In the Present
by RenaRoo
Summary: [RvB Angst War] Grif is in the wrong place after Simmons receives some bad news.


eggstacy prompted: RvB fic war prompt: Any character/pairing of your choosing! "You weren't supposed to be here!" Someone sees a face where it wasn't supposed to be/someone gets caught in the crossfire of a personal vendetta/someone who was supposed to be protected ends up getting hurt instead. Any of those!

So, in true Rena fashion, I looked at this prompt and was like "how can I make this UNEXPECTEDLY angsty?" and I am rather proud of my devious solution. So take that warning as you will.

Red vs Blue and related properties © Rooster Teeth  
story © RenaRoo

 **In the Present**

He had never thought there was much truth to the schtick of people practicing in mirrors. It seemed overblown and silly to him, even as a kid far more interested in wasting time at a local theater showing indie film dribble than showing up to class.

Grif didn't think much of it, of what would actually drive someone to have to work up nerves bad enough that they would stare in a mirror.

But he saw Simmons and it fit.

There was a tremble in his body as he stared at the mirror, like the hardest audience to impress was the one staring right back at him. And, knowing Simmons, it probably had a lot of truth to it.

There was a low mumble on his bitten lips, a hardly there whisper as he repeated ad nauseam _something_ that Grif couldn't pick up.

Not that he would have to.

There were a lot of things that Simmons had to work the nerve up for. Asking Sarge for acknowledgement. Asking Washington for approval of some nerdy organizational plan. Asking Donut to _for the love of god_ use another set of towels.

Hell, about the only person not up for the possibility were the legitimate higher ups of the UNSC who could get them off the forgotten planet, who would be able to send them back to their own galaxy, to _home._ If only Simmons could work up the nerve to annoy them enough.

Or so they assumed that was how Doc got to leave.

Grif stood flat on his feet, folding his arms as he watched the sad display unfold.

Somewhat despite himself, Grif was smirking at Simmons' expense and readying for a good, humiliating insult to throw the other soldier's way when he heard it.

"It's not my fault I don't miss you."

Confused, Grif narrowed his gaze and looked expectantly at Simmons.

The comment hadn't been some high pitched noise form the back of Simmons' throat. There was no exasperated _Grif_ at the end of the sentence. It was just a solid declaration.

Solid and firm despite the clenching of teeth and the bobbing of Simmons' throat as he worked up the next words.

"You're stubborn. And ugly – no. Not ugly. Not – fuck," Simmons shook his head, losing nerves until he took a thick breath and looked back to the mirror. "I looked up to you for so long. I wanted to do everything you told me to. Even when I couldn't. Even when you forced me and I just _couldn't._ And-and when you see a man. Sarge says you see a man when he's under stress. And I stressed you out and you showed! I mean. I _saw_ who you were. And that person is ugly. And I hate…"

Completely lost, Grif took a hesitant step back. He could easily walk away and pretend to have never been there.

But there were just so many questions.

"It's not my fault – none of it is my fault, it's _all_ on you," Simmons continued. "So. That's why I'm not coming to see you. And if I did it'd be for mom, not because you wanted to see me. I guess. I _guess_ that's why you sent this letter."

For a moment, Simmons' eyes flickered to the nearby holoscreen. Grif's gaze followed.

There was a letter on display, but it was too far away for him to make out.

"Okay," Simmons said lowly. "I won't go for her either." He glanced back to the mirror. "Hear that? That's how much _I'm_ disappointed in _you!_ I won't even do something for _mom!"_ He paused before mumbling again and pinching the bridge of his nose. His body was shaking in a subtle pant. "No. Of course you can't… _hear._ I'm not recording. Goddammit, Simmons. Get your shit together."

There was a lapse of silence where Simmons tried desperately and failed to get said shit together. And Grif tried, and failed, to get himself to move.

And, because he was Grif at the end of the day, he opened his mouth to deal with his lack of moving.

"I actually thought it all sounded pretty good."

Simmons whirled around so fast, grabbing at his chest that Grif thought, somewhat hysterically, for a moment that he was actually giving Simmons a heart attack when the other shook his head.

" _GRIF!"_ Simmons' anticipated, high-pitched yell finally came. Only, it wasn't followed by the flustered blathering that Grif had been witnessing for the last several minutes. Rather, it was met instead with a burning gaze and a snarl he didn't know Simmons even had in him. "What are you doing here!?"

"In… _our_ base?" Grif clarified. "In the most used hallway of our base?'

"You weren't supposed to be here!" Simmons roared. "We were supposed to lead drills an hour ago!"

Grif blinked. "Yeah, but I was hoping _you_ would have had those handled. I was busy… avoiding doing that."

"Goddammit, Grif!" Simmons yelled, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it across the room at Grif. It hit its mark but otherwise did nothing but fall to the floor. "I needed time alone!"

"Simmons, all due respect, but we have a way of conveying that to other adults these days," Grif snapped back. "It's called _fucking talking._ Though apparently you're having a hard time with the concept."

"Fuck _off,_ Grif!" Simmons growled.

"No," Grif said defiantly, coming right on into the room. "Tell me what the hell's going on in here. I'll just find out when you need to talk about it later. You _know_ you will."

Simmons looked ready to burst on him as Grif came closer, so Grif continued to play it cool.

"Honestly, I'm thinking of taking offense to the fact that you resorted to sorting _whatever_ it is out with a mirror before gossiping with me first," Grif shrugged, coming and plopping into the nearest chair. He did not miss how Simmons immediately turned off the screen with the letter. "Do you have any idea how boring it is here? I _need_ gossip."

"I don't need you here for this," Simmons said decisively.

"Oh?" Grif asked, raising his brows. "Prove it. And do it good, because as you like to point out, once I'm sitting or laying down, it's pretty damn hard to get me to move on."

"I don't need you here because you're part of the problem!" Simmons lashed out immediately. "So get out!"

Surprised, Grif pointed at his chest. "Moi?" he asked. "What the fuck could _I_ have done?"

"My dad," Simmons spat out. He shook his head angrily before lowering it. His hands went to his hips, a Simmons sign of focus. "He wants me to come see him. He's got… I don't know. Lymphoma from the sound of it. Not long to live and all that. Wants to see me."

"Okay," Grif replied, still confused. "We _are_ talking about the dad who's an utter asshole, right? What's it matter? Just ignore it."

"Ignore my dying father," Simmons repeated like it was funny.

"Sure," Grif replied matter-of-fact. "I mean, I never had a dad, so I couldn't tell you the best way to deal with it or whatever but–"

"That's the _point,_ Grif," Simmons growled. "You never had a dad. I can't explain to you why this is fucking important. _You don't get it."_

Floored, Grif stared at Simmons for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "Alright. Fucking _rude_ but alright. You want to play it that way, asshole? Tell me. _Tell me_ what I couldn't possibly be understanding here."

"He _hates_ me," Simmons reminded Grif, like they hadn't talked about the Father Issue for years at that point. "He is a bigot, asshole, fucker, _narcissist –_ I was never good enough. Not at the right things. And he tore me down every time for it."

Grif set his jaw but decided on saying nothing until Simmons informed him of something new.

"And the only thing you can do when you disappoint someone that long is to hate them back! And I tried so hard, Grif! I've not even talked to him in so long he had to send his stupid letter to _general mail_ so it could get to me eventually," Simmons huffed. He screwed his eyes shut. "I don't hate him. Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck – mother fucker._ I don't hate him, Grif. I can't. I don't want him to die. I don't want him to die, and I want to see him one last time. And the only thing that's going to happen is he'll hurt me again and that'll be the only memory of my dad. _Goddammit."_

 _"_ Simmons," Grif sighed.

"And you're part of the problem, you know that?" Simmons lashed out again, turning angry eyes on Grif. "You never got it! It's so easy for you to tell me to act like you and not give a shit but… _it's my dad!_ And you told me to cut ties for myself."

"Right," Grif defended. "Because it was the only way to stop him from berating you and being a fucking prick to you, Simmons. What don't you like about that–"

"I chose _you_ over him, I was _open_ with you and he stopped trying to reach out to me, too, because of it!" Simmons cried out.

"What? Because you're living with a dude?" Grif asked. "Are you fucking serious? You'd rather be alone and hiding for Daddy's dignity than grow a pair and be your own man at… what? The cost of missing some verbal abuses over the years? Yeah, okay, Dick. Cry me a river over that."

"He's my father!" Simmons burst out before hitting the mirror with bare knuckles, splintering it. Angry tears were rolling down his face. "I… I just… He's going to die without anything I've ever done making him proud. And I'm happy. And I'm in a relationship. I'm an officer. I'm a war hero twice over. And I never made my own dad happy, Grif. You don't get what that feels like."

Grif gritted his teeth, letting the moment go. He knew Simmons didn't mean it (even if he did). He was angry and not thinking how low the blows were. Even if he'd pay for it later.

Instead he just sat there and waited for Simmons to finally come to him for comfort. Because that was something, at least, that Grif could understand.


End file.
